Page 46

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DAIN

T he wind cuts against my face as I fly through the darkened sky, wings stretched wide, slicing through the storm-heavy clouds. The weight in my chest, the unbearable pull of the bond, gnaws at me like an open wound, but I refuse to give in to it.

Liora is behind me. Far away. And that is where she should stay.

I tell myself that I don’t care. That I left her for a reason. That I will never see her again.

It’s a lie.

The bond between us should be severed by now, but it isn’t. It’s weak, strained, but still there. A tether not yet broken. I want to destroy it, but I can’t fully destroy it.

And worse, I still feel her. Flickers of pain, the pulse of her indecision, the dark presence slithering closer to her.

I try to shut it out, focus on the flight, but the phantom echoes of her suffering keep slipping through the cracks in my mind.

I curse under my breath and push myself harder.

I tell myself I’m flying toward my people. Toward the dark elves. Toward the noble stronghold where all of this began.

The landscape changes beneath me. Stone gives way to tangled forests, to jagged cliffs, to sprawling ruins buried in darkness. And finally to the stronghold.

The noble mansion sits atop a crumbling plateau, its obsidian spires cutting into the sky like jagged teeth. The banners of the dark elves still hang, tattered and swaying in the wind. But something is wrong.

The torches that should light the perimeter are dark. The walls that should be teeming with guards are empty. The gates, once towering and fortified, are slightly ajar.

My muscles coil tight as I land in the courtyard, wings folding behind me.

No sound.

No movement.

Only the thick stench of decay and something else, magic. Old. Ancient. Hungry.

I push the gates open, stepping inside.

What I find makes my blood run cold.

Bodies.

Scattered like discarded dolls across the marble floors. Noble dark elves, their robes soaked in blood, their throats torn open. The walls are blackened, scorched by magic—not fire, but something worse.

The artifact is waking up. The presence.

I step forward, careful to avoid the blood pooling beneath my boots. The deeper I go, the worse it gets.

Servants, soldiers, councilmen, all dead. Their eyes wide, frozen in terror, their bodies twisted in unnatural shapes.

Some were trying to claw their own throats out.

A cold realization slithers through me.

This was not a battle.

This was a purge.

Something killed them from the inside out.

A deep, guttural rumble shudders through the stronghold.

The air thickens and the shadows move.

Suddenly, at the heart of the massacre, I see it.

The artifact is no longer dormant.

It floats in the center of the grand hall, suspended in air, black veins of energy writhing around it like living shadows.

It is not just a relic.

It is a living thing.

And it is awake.

A force slams into my chest, sending me skidding backward. The magic is suffocating, thick and pulsing, alive with a malevolent will. The whispers in my head are deafening now, a chorus of ancient voices screeching in a language older than time.

The artifact isn’t satisfied with this level of destruction, of me.

It wanted her. It always wanted Amara.

Now, it wants Liora.

My wings flare, my fangs lengthen, my claws curl into my palms as rage ignites in me.

I was a fool.

I thought I could walk away. Imagined I could let her go.

I must stop this or it will consume her.

A pulse of magic slams into me again, forcing me back. The shadows coil tighter around the artifact, their form shifting, twisting—taking shape.

A voice slithers through the air, deep and ancient, filled with something worse than hatred.

"She belongs to me."

I lunge forward, slicing my claws through the darkness, but it reforms instantly, laughing.

"You will never break free of this, Dain. And neither will she."

I bare my fangs. My magic surges through me, raw and violent.

"Then I will destroy you first," I snarl.

But I already know the truth.

The artifact cannot be destroyed. Not without sealing it again.

There is only one way to do that. I have to kill Liora. I must end the cycle.

I freeze.

The thought shreds through me.

No.

No, there has to be another way.

But deep inside, I already know the answer.

If I don’t kill her, the artifact will take her. And if it takes her, it will never let her go.

I clench my fists, breathing heavily. My heart pounds, my wings twitch, my fangs ache with the choice before me.

I have two options.

Find another way to end this or end her before the darkness can take her.

A gust of wind slams through the stronghold, and in the distance, I feel her.

Liora.

She is calling me.

The bond, though weak, flickers back to life, a desperate pulse against my chest.

She is still fighting.

I take one last look at the ruined stronghold, the bodies, the artifact writhing with hunger.

After that, I move.

I fly.

I will come to her and end this.